


Well, No One Told Me

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Series: Disability December 2017 [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Autistic Bobbi, Autistic Character, Autistic Jemma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sign Language, mama may, meltdowns, set in s2a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 23:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13134300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Bobbi is going to blow her cover, but her gut is telling her something is wrong.Luckily she knows just who to call.





	Well, No One Told Me

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this one is filling like. so many prompts 
> 
> one prompt wanted autistic bobbi and autistic jemma, one prompt wanted autistic jemma and protective mama may, and a prompt i got aaaages ago like months and months ago asked for jemma using bsl

Bobbi knows she shouldn’t be here. It’s breaking all sorts of protocols. And she can justify it later, of course she can, she can justify anything to anyone, but there’s still a stirring of anxiety in her gut saying that this is wrong. That this is putting them both at risk.

She’s still dressed in her Hydra uniform. Hair pulled back, dark enough that she barely recognizes herself in a mirror. Not that she recognizes herself all that well on a normal day. But it’s easier to put a face to her own mind when she has the blonde hair she grew up with. She keeps her eye makeup the same while she’s undercover. That grounds her the little bit it has to.

She clears her throat, puts her hands on her hips, and stares at the door handle. She really shouldn’t be here. But the woman—Jemma. Something is wrong, Bobbi can tell. She’d been _off_ at work all day, and by the time she left, she was barely cognizant of the things around her. Bobbi had called her name as she left, and Jemma had walked off like she couldn’t even hear her, eyes cloudy. Bobbi knew that expression. She’d worn it herself enough times. Jemma was pushing herself too hard, and she was getting overloaded. Probably approaching meltdown territory. Which made being here even more dangerous, because what was Bobbi supposed to do? Try to care for her when the woman still thought she was Hydra? Or blow her cover?

And really, Bobbi is being silly. Jemma is an adult, and she probably has a handle on things. But on the other hand, Bobbi has done enough missions in isolation. Being separated from all the people that usually help you cope … it gets rough. Impossible, sometimes. And Jemma hadn’t been trained for this at all, not like Bobbi had.

She knocks before she can talk herself out of it. She already has a few lies swimming in her head, reasons she could be stopping by. There’s a rumor of a mole at headquarters. She’ll say they’re doing home checks, looking for suspicious activity. If Jemma seems fine, she’ll be on her way.

If not …

Well, she’s not sure about that just yet. She’ll think of something.

“Jemma Simmons,” Bobbi calls, authoritative. “This is Bobbi Morse. Open up.”

There’s still no response. But there’s a light shining out from under the front door, and Bobbi knows Jemma wouldn’t leave the light on if she wasn’t home.

The key is slipping into the lock before Bobbi can think twice. Hydra (creepily) had keys to every worker’s home, so Jemma wouldn’t question the means of the intrusion. Of course, Bobbi had gotten this key from Coulson. But Jemma didn’t need to know that.

She opens the door slowly. The light in the entryway is on, like she thought it was, as is the light in the kitchen. Bobbi pushes the door open more, and then steps in and closes it behind her. Immediately, she knew she was right to come here. The sounds are soft, but they’re unmistakably ones of someone in distress. Shaking gasps, punctuated with whimpers.

Bobbi’s stomach clenches. She honestly feels more comfortable scouring the halls of the Hydra office than here, faced with this. Emotional situations, despite her experience with her own meltdowns, are not something she’s comfortable dealing with. But the woman didn’t have anyone else. Bobbi was her only option.

As she pads quietly into the apartment, she looks around for anything that could’ve triggered this episode. And she doesn’t have to look long. There’s a light in the kitchen that’s flickering, casting an ominous shade to the otherwise domestic scene. There’s a box of brownie mix on the counter, along with a bowl, and a container of vegetable oil. On a napkin sits an egg, and smashed on the floor is another. It looks like she tried to scoop the mess up with her bare hands, and then gave up when she only succeeded in spreading the goop around. Bobbi knows even something as simple as that, when you’re already on the edge, can be enough to push you over.  

Though it’s with a sense of dread, Bobbi makes her way deeper into the apartment, toward the source of the noise. She finds Jemma pressed between the couch and the wall, clutching her head and rocking—small, quick little movements—forward and back. There’s egg on her hands, and in her hair. It doesn’t seem like Jemma has noticed her.

Bobbi stands there for a moment, feeling like an intruder (which, you know, technically she is) on the scene. She clenches her jaw and her fists, fingers thrumming unpleasantly with energy.

“Jemma,” she says, not too loud. She doesn’t want to scare her.

There’s no response. No lapse in movement or pitiful noises.

She crouches down. “Jemma,” she says again, a little louder.

Again, nothing.

Bobbi stands, retreats back to the kitchen, and pulls out her cell phone. Her SHIELD phone, not her undercover one. She wonders if this is worth a call in, but her gut is telling her it is. She scrolls through her contacts, all coded of course, lest anyone ever find this phone and manage to break into it. Her thumb hovers over “Eagle Two”, and then she goes back. She scrolls again, and clicks on “Mama Bear”.

May picks up on the second ring.

“Jemma’s apartment,” Bobbi says.

“I’m on my way.”

It won’t be long until May gets here, so Bobbi busies herself cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. She grabs a dishtowel and twists the flickering bulb out of its socket, and replaces it with a new one she finds in the linen closet. She stands in appreciation for a moment, watching the steady light of the new bulb, and then gets to work cleaning the mess on the floor. It doesn’t take long before the floor is spotless, and then Bobbi is forced to wait for May and listen to Jemma’s pained sounds. She doesn’t know what to do, but she doesn’t want to touch Jemma and possibly make things worse.

May shows up only a few minutes later, though it feels like ages. She’s in civvies. Or, as close as May gets, which means workout clothes. She’s carrying a duffel bag and a serious expression. Bobbi waves her in, and points her over to Jemma.

May only takes a moment to absorb the scene before springing into action.

“I’ve brought your bag,” May says in a low, soothing voice, though Jemma doesn’t acknowledge her either. She crouches and unzips it, first pulling out what seems to be a stuffed toy. On closer inspection, it’s a hedgehog, with some sort of corded material for the spines. May shoves the stuffed animal into the space between Jemma’s knees and her chin, and then bounces it on her knees until Jemma grabs the toy and buries her face in it.

“She’s got egg on her—”

“We’ll wash it after,” May cuts her off.

Next, she pulls out a pair of over-the-ear headphones, and carefully brushes Jemma’s hair back so there won’t be any caught between her ears and the ear pads. She plugs in an iPod before slipping the headphones over Jemma’s head. Bobbi can barely hear what’s being played, but it sounds familiar. Some British Invasion band, she thinks.

The next thing to come out of the bag surprises Bobbi, who’s generally well-versed in meltdown coping techniques. It’s a pair of socks, black.

“What are those for?” Bobbi asks.

“Compression socks,” May explains. She takes off Jemma’s shoes (Jemma hadn’t stricken Bobbi as a ‘shoes in the house’ type of person. Bobbi doesn’t know why that throws her so much), then her socks, and slips the compression socks over her feet.

Finally, she pulls a weighted lap pad from the duffel and drapes it over Jemma’s knees.

“She doesn’t have a full blanket?” Bobbi asks.

“Makes her feel trapped.”

(The shoes thing clicks for Bobbi. It’s about control. It’s about being prepared.)

May scoots against the wall and lets one of her legs slip underneath Jemma’s own. Again, not trapping, Bobbi realizes. And then they wait. Eventually, Bobbi sits down in front of them both, a little ways away. She feels like she’s intruding on a private moment, but she doesn’t want to leave. She looks away, fiddling with the buttons on her jacket.

“May?” Jemma ekes out finally.

May rests a hand on the side of her leg, but doesn’t say anything. Jemma couldn’t hear her, anyway, with the headphones.

Jemma shakily holds out her hands, palms up. “My hands are sticky,” she whines into the stuffed animal.

May shoots Bobbi a look, and Bobbi dashes up to get a wet washcloth. When she returns with it, May makes careful work of cleaning Jemma’s hands, rubbing gently over her palms and in between each finger. When Jemma deems them clean enough, she pulls them back toward herself.

May taps on her knee to get her attention, and then makes the “A-Okay” symbol with her hand and puts it against her head. It takes Bobbi a minute to realize what she’s doing. _The sign for hair_ , Bobbi thinks. _Asking Jemma if she wants her hair cleaned._

Jemma, as if just noticing the other woman, shoots a nervous look at Bobbi.

_Friend_ , May signs.

Jemma swallows, and then nods. May makes the sign for ‘hair’ again. After a moment of consideration, Jemma nods a second time.

May holds out the soiled washcloth, and Bobbi takes that one and switches it out for a new, clean and damp one. May stops just before taking Jemma’s headphones off, but Jemma leans forward until they’re brushing May’s fingers. She still whimpers a little when May takes them and places them on the floor.

May crooks two fingers and turns them. Jemma obediently turns around so May has easier access to her hair, but is still hidden between the couch and the wall. May gets to work rubbing the washcloth through Jemma’s brown locks, working out clumps tangled with yolk.

Now that Jemma’s ears aren’t blocking the sound, Bobbi can make out the tinny lyrics of the song through the headphones. It’s The Zombies. _She’s Not There_. A perhaps too apt a choice. Bobbi tries not to laugh. She has a hard time not laughing when she’s nervous.

It’s quiet for a long time, besides the thin sound of the iPod. May works slowly, methodically. She’s not rushing anyone here.

Bobbi swallows down something acrid in the back of her throat. Something like loneliness.

(Maybe that’s what drove her here in the first place.)

When May is done, Jemma leans backwards until she’s slumped against May’s chest, head leaning back on her shoulder. Jemma absentmindedly picks dried yolk out of the hedgehog’s fabric spines as May sets the washcloth aside and rests her hands on Jemma’s elbows.

Bobbi’s throat burns.

“I’ll wash him,” May says, very quietly.

Jemma nods.

“Do you want to go home?” May asks.

Jemma shakes her head.

May doesn’t ask if she’s sure, but Bobbi can tell it’s right on the tip of her tongue.

“I’ll stay the night, then.”

Jemma shakes her head again.

May pushes out an even breath that on anyone else would have been a sigh.

“Jemma,” May says.

“’S fine,” Jemma whispers. She hands the stuffed hedgehog back to May, stands, and carefully steps around her. She heads toward her room, stops, and turns around. She won’t look at either of them.

“Thank you for knowing something was wrong,” Jemma says, vaguely aimed in Bobbi’s direction. She tilts her head toward May, but is still looking at the floor. “Thank you for coming. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. I trust you can see yourselves out.” Then she turns, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Bobbi falters in the silence.

“Is she going to be okay?” she asks, when May still hasn’t moved.

May gazes at the hedgehog for a moment, rubbing a thumb along the bridge of its nose.

“Thank you for calling me, Agent Morse,” is what she settles on.

She packs up the duffel bag and throws the soiled washcloths in the sink. She puts Jemma’s shoes neatly by the door. Bobbi can tell she doesn’t want to leave. Neither does Bobbi.

“Should I stay?” Bobbi asks.

But May just holds the front door open for her.

It’s dark when they step out of the apartment building and onto the street. Darker than Bobbi was expecting. She’d check her phone to see how much time had passed, but she doesn’t want to be rude.

May doesn’t immediately walk away, so Bobbi hovers as well.

“Your cover’s blown with her,” May says.

Bobbi nods, fingers of one hand twisting at her side. She wants her batons. “Yeah.”

“I trust the mission will still proceed as planned?”

Bobbi doesn’t know why May is being so formal. Jemma had done it too. Were they uncomfortable with her being there, or is she reading too much into this? “You trust correctly.”

May nods. And then, briefly, reaches out to rest her hand on Bobbi’s arm.

“See you soon, Bobbi.”

Then May is gone. And Bobbi is left with a strange, heavy feeling in her chest. She glances up to the only one of Jemma’s windows that’s visible from the street. The light is off. Bobbi swallows, and walks away.


End file.
